Can't You Smell That Smell?
by Grayswandir
Summary: A most enticing smell ellicits memories of a time long past for Eric. A memory he thought false. So who does he discover visiting Bon Temps? slash undertones, not a songfic


Title: Can't You Smell That Smell?  
Author: Grayswandir  
Fandom: Torchwood, True Blood  
Disclaimer: Torchwood belongs to the gorgeous mind of Russell T. Davies, True Blood is the HBO interpretation of the Southern Vampire Mysteries (better than the books, imo).

A/N: I seriously have no idea why I thought this would be a good idea. Damn crossover bug!

TW/TB

That scent. That overwhelmingly intoxicating scent drove Eric to seek out its owner with extreme urgency. He had not smelt that smell in so many years. Perhaps even a hundred of them. Sookie's scent, that fairy blood, was sickly sweet and made his fangs throb with desire. But this other scent. This scent drove a weakness into his knees and forced his muscles into a jelly-like state without mercy. A walking aphrodisiac with the power to force grown men to howl continuously with pleasure.

He'd seen Godric fall under that thrall. It had amused him momentarily before he too fell to his knees. It was during the Boer Wars. Which of the two didn't matter. Or perhaps it had been before official engagement occurred. A contingent of British forces were being laid siege to, and losing fitfully. It was a small encampment, perhaps a dozen men versus at least a score of the native population. Wars were fun places for vampires, free flowing blood didn't concern the living and the near dead were senseless.

The Boer fighters emptied the camp of all useable weapons and armaments, pillaged the food stores, disabled all the still ambulatory British troops and left. Godric and Eric had been watching, slightly starved from their long journey, pangs of hunger nearly overriding their sense for survival. As the now heavily armed forces left the camp for dead, the two vampires made their journey to a feast for kings. The fear, the bravery, the adrenaline rush left a very heady taste to blood, even in death.

Halfway to the slaughtered camp, that scent overcame all others. Godric had stopped, eyes closed, fangs nearly imbedded into the outer flesh of his chin. "Godric, why have you stopped?" Eric had asked, unknowing why his maker had halted as the blood grew old and cold on the sands. And then the wind shifted, just an inch, just enough for the same desire to overtake Eric. It was a smell unlike any other he smelt in his many years. A heady mix of a perfectly roasted boar on a spit with the succulent scent of a chocolatier's freshly crafted goods but with the taste of sexual desires and the salty scent of rich young blood.

The next Eric knew, he was on his hands and knees in the sandy grit, panting as if he was still human and suffering the aftermath of many hours of sexual arousal followed by several blissful minutes of release. Godric had recovered, somewhat, just enough to have covered half again the distance to the camp. He was on his knees crawling to a mostly dead man, the blood still flowing sluggishly from a vicious belly wound. Barely making it to a crawl, Eric slithered behind, hoping to find this fiendishly delightfully scent source, determined to claim it as his own.

Slowly, the two vampires drained all the good bits of blood from every body, except one. The last one was the source of that wonderfully blissful scent. There was no fear in this man. Adrenaline yes, but no fear. He smelled of acceptance, bitter defeat, and, strangely, sex. His eyes had opened to reveal strong blue irises, and he laughed. "Come to finish me yourselves?" he mocked, a Scottish accent flavoring his words. His eyes slid shut, a maddening laugh consuming his body.

In silence, the two vampires agreed that such a man would be most excellent for a vampire and worked it tandem, draining the man to the perfect level before sharing their own. Swiftly, nearly overcome from the mixing of emotions the man's blood had with that of the other fallen soldiers, and the effect of a very full belly of blood, the two worked feverishly to settle themselves for the new vampire's rebirth into a stalker of the night.

By night's waking, the man had disappeared. Eric and Godric had stared confusedly at one another and vehemently agreed never to divulge the results of that night to another for it must have been magic of the worst sort.

But now that scent was back! Was he hallucinating or were his senses merely playing tricks on him? Growling, Eric knew he would be unable to rest until he found the source once more. He wasn't sure if the fact the trail led straight to _Merlotte's_ should surprise him, but he thought it fitting.

And there he was. Sitting at the bar, life of the party. Burning with life. Overflowing. In effortless gestures and words he had captured the attention of every person present. Sookie. Tara. Lafayette. Sam. Andy. Jason. All the other patrons, even those not concentrating on him seemed to be waiting for the punch line to his lewd tale, of an orgy of all things. Jessica was in a corner of the bar, clasping the edge of a table in determination. Bill sat frozen, eyes burning with the desire to drain the man, for stealing Sookie's attentions or his very real _need_ to taste the blood associated with that smell; Eric had difficulty deciding which he preferred the glare be associated with.

A masculine laugh issued from the previously thought imagined man. Absently, Eric noted the lack of Scottish notes, the accent had fled to that indeterminate American rendition.

The bar fell silent.

Eric cursed silently as he realized why: he had started a growling purr. The man turned, parting his gathered crowd as he stood. Eric almost laughed. The man was wearing most of an RAF Group Captain's uniform from World War 2, replete with braces and a gun holster. Standing tall, the man made Eric feel short, even with his additional four inches of clearance, his entirety of being so all consuming.

Boldly, the man approached, a leer splitting his features. "Hello, handsome," he said, eating the distance in the span of two seconds. "It has been some time, hasn't it?"

Eric swallowed, barely remaining erect. His body burned with desire, his fangs screaming for release. Forcing his own stormy gray-blue eyes to connect with the stranger's vibrant blues, Eric gasped, whispering, "I thought you weren't real."

He merely chuckled, "Oh, if only you knew." Sobering, if only slightly, the man presented his right hand. "Captain Jack Harkness, and who are you?"

The End?


End file.
